


What Bonds We Have

by CorsetJinx



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post Knife of Dunwall dlc, Pre-Brigmore Witches dlc, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Overseer’s invasion a Whaler goes looking for <i>one</i> in particular, without Daud’s permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Bonds We Have

He counted twenty minutes since the Overseer had started crying, only now had the shaky, desperate sounds begun to ease off – likely due in part to the fact that he’d stopped removing slivers of skin and nail, applying pressure to clear out some of the gunk he’d found lurking beneath the first couple of layers. Really, the man ought to be thanking him for getting that out. The infection would have been rather terrible if he’d just left it be.

It also confirmed he’d made a wise choice in moving this little heart-to-heart away from the Commerce Building where his fellows went about their business. His guest’s screams would have alerted them and he was at least moderately sure that Daud was in no mood to be disturbed at the moment. Not with all the planning that needed to be done, the people that needed to be found, and that wasn’t even counting the search for medical supplies that had several of their number run ragged across a handful of noble’s houses in the Estate District.

Thalia Timsh had at least honored their agreement, even if she’d likely been puzzled by the sudden social call.

“How is that, Overseer Dietrich? Feeling more awake?” He smiled as the burly man regarded him with wide, terrified eyes. The man’s healthy complexion had faded to a ghastly pallor and beads of sweat stood out on his heavy brow. On one of the nearby tables, the golden scowl of the Abbey’s mask glared up at the ceiling. It had to be… roughly eleven minutes since his guest had stopped trying to recite the Strictures as a means of coping, which was honestly a blessed relief.

“I-I d-don’t know anything… P-please, I wasn’t a part of Franklin’s squad, I didn’t know he’d be sent out here.” The man flinched hard when he raised a patient hand, a harsh breath being sucked into stressed lungs and eyes shutting tight like he expected a blow.

“Relax. We aren’t here to talk about that. I imagine your Abbeyman brother has already met his end, one way or another. Likely cleaner than the rest of his squad, at least.” He allowed himself a shrug at that. Reports had mentioned that Franklin’s men had attempted to raft their way through, until it became impassable due to the debris littering the District. Then the fools had tried to wade, waist deep in oil-lit waters crawling with hagfish.

Easy targets, for sure. And he could well imagine that some of his fellows had relieved a bit of their stress and loss on the men of that squad.

Not all of them were so willing to take the highroad Daud had struggled up himself, though their leader had to be given his due.

The Overseer’s brown eyes flickered with a number of things – among them fear. Even when the man strained thick wrists against his restraints, the shackles held. They might have been meant for wolfhounds, but they served their purpose just fine on a human as well. Watching the big man struggle at first had been entertaining, until the noise had threatened to give him a headache.

“I-If that’s not what you want th-then what is it?” Steadier this time, just a touch defiant. The Overseer tried to straighten up in his chair, once more filling out the navy and gold of his uniform. Truly, even pale and sick looking, he might inspire fear in someone else.

“You were one of those lucky ones who got to question one of our number two weeks prior to the Abbey’s invasion.” He smiled, folding his arms comfortably as he looked down at the growing confusion on Overseer Dietrich’s face. “Do you recall it?”

He saw the lie starting to form behind the man’s eyes, the tilt of his mouth that started to open, and took the chance to head him off. Reaching out, he squeezed the clamps around the man’s bleeding fingers, raising his voice only enough to be clearly heard over the man’s howls of pain. “No need to burden yourself with a Lying Tongue, Overseer. It will just waste both our time. Do you want me to remove the rest? I can assure you, it is much more difficult to hold a sword when your fingers are split open.”

A few drops of blood trickled to the dirty floor, staining what was already ruined by moisture and mildew. Dietrich continued to writhe as he applied steady pressure to the clamps, gently turning the man’s index finger to the right – twisting it slowly as it strained beyond its natural flexibility. Several degrees more and it would snap. Instead, he held it there and waited, watching the taller man attempt to draw in a breath without crying.

The look of relief on the Overseer’s face was nigh beatific when he released the clamps, taking a half-step away to resume his questioning.

“Now, two weeks prior to the Abbey’s invasion of the Flooded District.” He stated, tone soft and encouraging. The Overseer nodded, more animatedly than necessary, as if that would dissuade him from causing further harm. “You and two others were selected to interrogate one of our number. You took him to the room within the Abbey specifically intended for such. Do you recall it?”

“y-yes.” It was weak, nearly breathless, but Dietrich repeated it several times.

He shushed him gently, reaching out to push back several strands of loose brown hair. The man jerked at the touch, whining low in his throat. It sounded raw, miserable and afraid.

“I imagine he didn’t speak at first. But the three of you encouraged him, did you not? The Abbey is famed for having its methods of making people talk.” His voice took a turn at the end, losing some of its gentleness and becoming dark.

Overseer Dietrich shuddered in his chair, eyes growing wild again.

“I’m not asking for details, don’t worry. You were a very busy man before we became acquainted, after all. You cannot be expected to remember every person you’ve ever put to the test.” Lifting his tone again, he gave the man’s forehead a soft pat before moving away to consider some of the tools he’d been able to gather. Not as much as the Whalers needed, in case someone needed surgery, but enough that it would suit his purposes.

The chair squeaked when his guest moved, but it didn’t sound likely to collapse under the Overseer’s weight. For that, he was glad, even though he could probably rig him up against a wall if necessary.

“I wasn’t the one to kill him, I swear.. Reinold, he was the one that did it – we couldn’t let him go, he was a heretic and - “

“Let him go?” Sudden silence descended after his question, loud and unpleasant after the wake of his quiet inquiry. His hand moved from the roll of bandages he’d been considering, leather-covered fingers stroking the body of a syringe instead. Lifting it, noting that it weighed practically nothing in his hand, he took slow, measured steps back towards the Overseer.

It was no longer amusing, the way the man cowered from him – no longer made powerful by a golden mask and the screech of a music box.

“You and your brothers dropped him in a railcar filled with bodies of plague victims for a laugh rather than giving him the dignity of a proper death. You watched him try and crawl up and gave the order for more to be loaded in.” He was close to the man now, bending so that they were eye-to-eye. The brunet’s hot, panic-quickened breaths brushed over his face, stinking of old whiskey and meat.

“I-I didn’t…”

Once more he shushed him, this time with a genial smile.

“He was my friend, you know.” Each word was soft, the word ‘friend’ coming out sadder than he’d intended. “I don’t have very many of those, and you took away one that I considered the best.”

Straightening up, he gave the syringe a careful flick as he pressed on the plunger – careful that none of the substance inside got on him or his leathers. Overseer Dietrich began to shake, a sob climbing out of his throat, and he strained away from the needle when it came near. Smiling, he pushed the man’s pale face to the side, careful when he punctured the skin. “What’s going to happen now, Overseer, is not so different than what you allowed my friend. This,” he nodded to the syringe for emphasis, “will give you a little bit to think on, what with a day’s portion of Elixir in your system.”

A whimper left the brunet when he pressed the plunger down, drawing out into a low cry of discomfort as the substance entered his system. Once it was done, he pulled the needle back and set it aside for disposal.

“Remember how I said it is much harder to wield a sword when your fingers are split open?” He motioned to the man’s captive hands, reddened and raw were skin and nail were missing, digits swollen and two of them crooked unnaturally. “You will have the chance to find out for yourself soon enough.”

“Y-you’re…” A weak, frantic hope flashed in the Overseer’s bloodshot eyes.

It made his own smile softer and he softened the pitch of his voice a little.

“I’m going to give you a chance, Overseer Dietrich. Just a small one. What you do with it is your own decision.” When the broader man sagged in the chair with relief, tears starting another track down his face, he continued, “I’m going to give you your sword and leave you on the grounds of the Oil Refinery. There are many people there – some you might even recognize.”

Confusion muddled the relief in those brown eyes, but he paid it no mind. Easing the man from the chair once he’d adjusted the shackles, he hummed when the brunet groaned at being on his feet. As promised, he lifted the Overseer’s sword and added it to the one already hanging from his uniform. The mask he left on the table, directing all its frozen spite towards the gutted ceiling.

The Overseer threw up after the first transversal, he dangled the man over the side of a roof by his collar until he was done. He groaned with every one after that, begging to be let down, to be tossed into the river, and every time he simply shushed the weakening complaints. Even through the thickness of the Overseer’s coat and gloves, not to mention his own, he could feel the temperature spike in the other’s body. It didn’t make him go any faster – and he tuned out the soft mutterings that started after the fifth jump.

The grounds of the Refinery were streaked with whale oil, giving the abandoned place an eerie luminescence not found in many other places. Pools of stagnant water festered around cart tracks that had once helped supply Dunwall with her quota of oil, barrels of the stuff, empty and full or even partially so, dotted the mottled grass and mud. Somewhere, he heard a swarm of rats chittering – moving away from them via rooftop rather than chance his guest falling victim to their jaws by some idle misstep.

Once at a low, brick building he finally stopped – giving the Overseer a little shake to make sure he was still conscious. Overseer Dietrich moaned softly, shivering more than the faintly chill air really called for. He pried open a segment of the skylight, peering down for a moment to spot a walkway. Dark Vision revealed what he sought and with a quiet puff of air they were inside, exactly in the spot he’d just been looking at.

“This is where we part, Overseer.” He pushed the man lightly off, careful not to touch any part of the uniform that had residue of bodily functions. Overseer Dietrich staggered, limping in confusion as his shackles rattled, catching himself on a metal rail just in time to avoid tipping over and falling down a whole storey below.

“W-w-wait… Y-y-you said..” The man turned, not allowed to turn much unless it was with his whole body thanks to the shackles on his ankles. The man’s gaze was bleary, obviously struggling to focus on him and he was sweating profusely.

“Ah, that I did.” He slid the extra sword free with care, taking a moment to be sure it caught a weak beam of light from one of the broken windows. From two storeys below, faint groans sounded and he fought a smile when Overseer Dietrich stiffened, eyes widening like a panicked animal’s. With a toss, the sword was airborne – then falling, falling past the brunet’s desperate grab and clattering as it struck metal and whatever else down below.

The feverish man stared after it, only lifting his numbed gaze up after it did not magically reappear after several seconds.

“Y-y-you l-lied.. Y-you said you’d give m-me a chance…” The stare became accusing, his shaky hands tightening on the rail as he tried to haul his shivering body up.

“I am giving you a chance, Overseer. Almost the same one you gave my friend.” This time the smile that crossed his face was less kind, for all the calm lilt to his words. “Your sword – which is more than you gave him, and a path to a shred of safety if you think you can make it out of here. All you have to do,” he lowered his voice, almost conspiratorially, “is reclaim it and get past your brothers that are shuffling about below. Unless,” tipping his head to the side, he pinned the sickly man with a curious stare, “you wish to wait out the plague and simply join them?”

Realization registered in brown eyes, one of those gloved hands lifting to touch the side of his thick neck. Feeling for the faint pinprick that the needle had left.

“I told you it would give you something to think on, Overseer Dietrich.” Inclining his head, tranvsersing away with a soft puff of air, he no longer paid any mind to the sounds coming from within that building.

He would need to clean up and get ready for patrol – the latter he imagined would be easier now that a weight had been taken from his mind.


End file.
